Soon We'll Be Found
by Fairly Odd New Yorker
Summary: A two-part fanfic, Constance is having trouble sleeping since Broomhead's departure, and Imogen winds up having to watch over her through the night. FEMSLASH, HB/Drill, please R&R
1. PART 1 Let's Not Fight

**- Soon We'll Be Found -**

* * *

><p><strong>(AN)-** This is a two-part, I would've posted the second part right away but it looks stupid and inconsistent due to the several days I have been without power, courtesy of Irene. As for my other fics, I am looking to update 'Hurricane' (HAHA ironic?) but the name may change. With college starting up, I will most likely get better with updates as I have a horrible tendency to write notes for fanfic other than class. Tee hee. :P

This was inspired by the song of the same name "Soon We'll Be Found" by Sia.

* * *

><p><strong>PART 1 - Let's Not Fight<strong>

* * *

><p>She stepped into the cold room, her bare feet stinging as they hit the icy stone floor. She gasped quietly, gripping the door as she crept in, peering into the darkness as she allowed her eyes to adjust. The only light was the moonlight from the open window.<p>

"May I help you?" Constance's sarcastic voice broke through the silence, making the gym mistress jump slightly.

"Miss Cackle said you were asleep," she replied quietly, looking into the darkness under the canopy bed. The witch's pale white skin shone in the darkness, her dark eyes piercing menacingly at her, like an animal protective of it's territory.

Imogen stood taller, determined to stand her ground, "She's busy with paperwork so she asked me to look after you tonight."

"I do _not_ need anyone to look after me, Miss Drill," she replied forcibly, and pulled back her blankets, stepping carefully out of the bed. Her hands were shaking, but she was trying hard not to let them.

"Where are you going?" She stepped forward, closing the door behind her and leaning against it casually.

The older woman stood at her full height, throwing her silk robe on to cover her very bare arms. She took her sweet time, pulling her hair from underneath her robe and running her hands through it briefly. She seemed unaffected by the cold floor as she approached the non-witch in bare feet, her clothes flowing behind her as she walked.

"That would be none of your business, Miss Drill," she replied curtly, reaching for the doorknob. Imogen placed her hand flat on the wall to block her path, causing the dark-haired woman to look dangerously at her as she retracted her hand, flexing the spell-casting fingers that currently did not work.

"It _is_ my business since I'm to look after you, and _must_ you address me by name after each sentence?"

Constance eyes cut into hers, and she looked her up and down as if sizing her up, "I am going down to the Potions lab, if you really must know, _Miss Drill_."

"For what, exactly, _Miss Hardbroom_?"

She folded her arms, staring her down. She did not appreciate being toyed with. She wished she could just appear down there as usual, but her magic had not been functioning normally lately - she had attempted it two days ago which had resulted in her passing out in the staffroom. That was what had spurred Amelia to keep a much closer eye on her deputy.

She took in a deep breath and let it out slow in an attempt to clam herself down, "I need to brew a sleeping aid," she explained stiffly, "which I wouldn't have to do if you hadn't woken me up, Miss Drill!" she added in a deadly whisper.

"All right, enough with the Miss Drill thing, I've known you for three years I think it's safe for you to call me Imogen!" she snapped, getting fed up with this woman already. She shouldn't have agreed to look after her. She foresaw a night of fighting and little to no sleep, followed by a day of weariness.

"I can't allow you to brew anything, it's Amelia's orders," she said shakily, wondering if she could seriously stop her from leaving. She regained her confidence by reminding herself in her head that Constance would never harm her with magic no matter how much she despised her, and what's more she technically couldn't since she was currently magically indisposed.

"Amelia isn't here," Constance said in a sort of sickly sing-song voice, leaning towards the blonde as if she was speaking down to a child, "It will only take a few seconds, she will never know a thing …"

"I can't, Cons- Miss Hardbroom," she replied firmly, shaking her head.

She raised a brow, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, "And you really think you can stop me?"

"Yes," she replied firmly, standing her ground.

Constance gave her a concentrated glare for a moment before easily pushing her arm up and away from the wall. Imogen was determined not to give up, and she grabbed her by the wrist, causing her to cry out in surprise

"Imogen, what on _earth_?"

Constance reached her other hand across her stomach to grab the doorknob, and Imogen quickly snatched her other wrist up, grabbing her firmly but not enough to hurt her, although in the past simple skin contact appeared to cause the woman great pain.

She pinned the taller woman against the wall, holding her wrists at either side of her at eye level. Constance's eyes widened as she stared at her, and for a moment Imogen felt that she might actually be truly frightened.

Constance _was_ frightened, not entirely, but she had greatly underestimated the sportswoman's strength. She felt threatened, and in that feeling, she briefly and unintentionally read the other woman's thoughts, wondering if Imogen truly meant to cause her harm.

Instead, she was surprised to read that Imogen had the sudden urge to kiss her. More surprising than that, she was beginning to feel like she actually wanted her to. These were suppressed feelings she had thought long since subsided since the non-witch began dating that ranger boyfriend.

In any other situation, Constance may have not minded it. But right now, she felt incredibly vulnerable. Not only was she in a sorry state, but her silk shirt was cut far too low, and her robe had fallen to her elbows, leaving half of each arm bare. That, on top of her inability to perform magic without wearing herself out drastically, made her completely and utterly afraid. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gulped audibly. She laid there flat against the wall, breathing in sharply through her nose, watching the other woman and waiting … but nothing happened.

Imogen released her wrists, and Constance let them slowly fall to her sides, never breaking eye contact.

"We are not trying to hurt you, Miss Hardbroom," she said softly, "We just want you to get better."

Constance sighed deeply, not wanting to admit it but she would never get Imogen to fully understand her unless she said it.

"I've been having nightmares, Imogen," she said sincerely, and Imogen's heart fluttered at the continued usage of her first name, "I've been having nightmares, and that's why I need to make a potion."

Imogen was quiet for a bit, and she folded her arms across her chest, forgetting about blocking the door.

"Well … have you talked to Amelia about this?"

"Amelia doesn't know," she said, shaking her head slightly, "I didn't want to trouble her more than she's already been." She took a deep breath, resting her hand on the doorframe, "You're the only one who knows, and you can't tell anyone."

Imogen nodded, looking down, "I'm sorry, but I still can't let you drink any potions. Amelia said-"

"_I can't sleep, Imogen_!" she cried hysterically, almost pleading with her.

"You said you were sleeping just before-"

"Barely!" she threw up her hands, "Every time I fall into a deep sleep, she's _there_, I can't escape her. I should've left during the inspection, it can't be undone now, she knows where I live …" she held her hand to cover her eyes as she felt tears begin to form, and she removed her hand once she had regained her self control.

"Hecketty Broomhead," Imogen realized, barely under a whisper. Mistress Broomhead had finished her inspection of the school exactly a week ago to the day.

Constance looked back at her with teary eyes, and looked away, taking a shaky breath as she hugged her stomach protectively.

"She's the reason you've been like this?"

Constance rolled her eyes, ashamed of herself, "It's mostly stress but yes …"

"Is it just the nightmares, or can you not sleep at all?"

"I can sleep, I'm just afraid to because every time I do, I have another nightmare …" she sighed, "She's sending them magically. She's getting revenge since we'd made a fool of her."

"It's not your fault, though," Imogen asked, unable to see how this punishment was rational, "You can't be held responsible for the stuff she pulled when she was a young girl!"

"Everything is my fault with her, Imogen," she said calmly, resting the back of her head against the wall and looking to the ceiling.

"How'd you manage last night?"

"Amelia's a heavy sleeper," she said with the hint of a smirk, "I managed to get past her."

"Lovely," Imogen said exasperatedly, "And this potion, did it really work?"

"It's wide-awake," she said, "The dream potion wouldn't work so I've had to resort to staying awake in order to evade her …"

"No wonder you haven't been getting better!" she replied mournfully, taking her by the arm and leading her to her bed. Constance, in her surprise, allowed her.

"You need to get some rest," she said, "I can watch over you."

"What about you?" she asked incredulously, stepping out of her gentle grasp, "You need your sleep almost as much as me."

"I'll sleep in the chair," she said, motioning to the armchair that Amelia must've slept in herself the previous nights.

"How can you watch over me if you're asleep?" she asked nastily, and closed her eyes, shaking her head restlessly, "No, I'm just going to stay up the whole night as usual."

"I'm a very light sleeper, Constance, trust me. I wake up at the slightest movement."

She looked at her in disbelief, her lips pursed, but she said nothing as she did not want to argue any further - a rarity for her, as she always did love to put up a fight. Instead, she tucked herself away under her covers, not bothering to take off her robe. Imogen looked shocked at this behavior, but she shook it off and sat down in the chair beside the bed, pulling the purple afghan blanket over her.

Constance promptly turned her back to the gym mistress, making sure she was as close to the opposite wall as humanly possible.

"I'll wake you if you like, if you appear to be having a nightmare," Imogen offered shyly.

The witch turned to look at her with an amused smile on her face that intended to mock her, "Miss Drill, it's a magically induced nightmare, you wouldn't be able to wake me from it."

She turned back around, tucking her blanket close to her face as she curled her legs into a fetal position. Imogen glared at the back of her head. She wanted to say she'd figure out a way to wake her even if it involves pushing her off the bed and onto the floor, but she refrained, tucking her own blankets close to hide from the cold air of the bedroom.

"Good night," she muttered, more to herself than to the raven-haired witch, who didn't acknowledge or return the gesture.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN)-** Please review, you have no idea how much they mean to me.


	2. PART 2  I Know We're Lost

**(A/N)**- Sorry for the delay! Thank you for the reviews! This didn't turn out as beautifully as I'd planned, but I think I managed to save it, in the end. And it's like twice as long as the first chapter! I should've made it into three parts, but the third part would've been too short and then I would've taken forever trying to extend it! xP Ah well. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Part 2- I Know We're Lost<strong>

* * *

><p>Constance shifted quickly in her sleep, and Imogen opened her eyes, her gaze falling immediately on the potions mistress. She had gone to sleep watching the back of her head, and, unbeknownst to her, Constance could feel her staring at her but did not reprimand her for it.<p>

The witch rolled over in her sleep, and Imogen watched her, holding her breath. She had never before been able to observe the woman's face for longer than a few seconds, for Constance would always eventually stare back at her menacingly, and if she stared long enough, she was shouted at for doing so. She found she thought the woman was even more beautiful, when she wasn't scowling angrily at her. She thought herself mad to think that the woman looked beautiful _even_ when she was scowling at her.

She couldn't help it. Even before she realized she had a bit of a crush on the older woman, she knew Constance was beautiful. Even when her hair was bound in the usual bun, she was beautiful. Her porcelain-like skin, her strong jawline, those lips she'd always dreamt of kissing ...

She mentally kicked herself as her gaze fell to the woman's exposed neck, reminding herself that she was possibly only thinking these thoughts because of her recent break-up. She didn't want to pursue anything with Constance, for that might make her just a rebound. If anything, Serge should've been the rebound. She had loved Constance first, but hell if she'd ever admit that to her. She'd thought it over again and again in her mind, and every time she knew - Constance would react furiously and ask her to resign.

No, instead she admired the woman from afar, as always. Just like now. Her long ebony hair framed her face in the pale moonlight. She wished she'd wear it down more often ...

Constance's eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, and Imogen tensed, getting ready to pretend to sleep if she awoke. But she didn't. Her frown deepened, and her hands, which were tucked under the blankets, began to curl into fists. Imogen could see her eyes moving from beneath her eyelids.

Slowly, Imogen unwrapped herself from her blanket and approached the sleeping witch. Constance turned away from her, a small cry escaping her throat, and Imogen rushed up onto the bed beside her, taking her arm carefully, "Constance?" she whispered.

As soon as her hand touched her skin, Constance had pulled away quickly, letting out a loud shriek as if she'd been burned. The younger woman jumped in surprise as the sleeping woman began to writhe beneath the covers, legs thrashing violently, her fingers clawing as if she was trying to escape but was unable to get up.

"Constance!" Imogen cried out, but this episode continued. Unable to think of anything else to do, she grabbed both her wrists quickly, but she didn't expect how quickly the sleeping witch would move. She managed to escape her grasp as she cried out, and every time Imogen caught one of her wrists, the other would escape, and so on and so forth.

Eventually, she caught both wrists, and she pinned them down on her pillow, on either side of her head as she had done before. This action caused the woman to cease fighting against her hold, but it also caused her to open her eyes.

She was frozen for a moment in fear, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Imogen could feel her heart pounding madly, vibrating through the mattress.

"Imogen ..." she growled dangerously through gritted teeth, the formidable anger present once again in her eyes.

"You were having a nightmare," Imogen said in a small voice, her grip loosening on the woman beneath her as she stared back in shock.

"Get off of me ..." she hissed, and the non-witch quickly obeyed her, releasing her and scrambling off the bed.

"You have ... _no_ right ..." Constance began quietly, but it was obvious she was still recovering from her nightmare.

"I woke you, didn't I?" Imogen snapped, "What was I supposed to do, let you wake up the entire school?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes." she replied simply. She was now sitting up, legs folded with her head in her hands as she stared blankly into space.

"You were screaming!" she protested back.

"These walls are soundproofed with magic," Constance explained, "Not the safest nor smartest thing to do, I know, but I have my reasons." She raised her head and looked calmly over at Imogen.

"You should leave."

"I can't," Imogen replied stubbornly, shaking her head, "I promised Miss Cackle ..."

"I won't be going back to sleep now anyway, so you serve no purpose being here." That wasn't intended to come across nasty, but it did.

"Whether you sleep or not, I'm not leaving until it's time for my morning run."

"Which is when?"

"Five am."

Constance's eyes glanced over to the clock by her door, and she groaned audibly, allowing herself to fall back childishly into her pillows, "That's in _four hours_!"

"It could be in eight hours for all I care, I'm staying put."

Constance sneered back at her in the darkness before running her hand through her long deep brown hair, staring up at the ceiling of her four poster bed.

"It could be worse, you know,"

The potions mistress sighed, "How?"

"You could be spending the night with Davina."

Constance couldn't help a small smile that ghosted her lips, and Imogen herself fought back a grin, pulling her legs up into the arm chair.

"She probably knows you're here." Constance said grimly, still staring at the ceiling.

"Who?"

The witch sighed, closing her eyes, wishing she didn't have to utter that dreadful name once more. Luckily for her, Imogen caught on quickly.

"What will she do to you?" she asked in a small voice.

"The nightmares will get worse, but if you manage to interfere one too many times, I'm certain she'll give up," she turned her head, looking over at her, "But then she's bound to pay us another visit."

Imogen felt her blood begin to boil at the thought of that vile woman having such control over their potions mistress. She wanted nothing more to protect Constance from her, or any harm for that matter. She wished she had been born a witch ... she felt so powerless and small at the realization that, in the end, she could do nothing that could save her colleague.

Her eyes were becoming a little glassy, and she hoped the dark shadows of the castle were hiding them from the witch's eyes.

She didn't want to leave her side, but how could she tell her that? Constance would think her mad, and besides it was inappropriate, whether they were in a relationship or not, and they were most certainly not. She wished she could go back to the days before Serge. She should've been more up front with Constance about her feelings, rather than giving her a silly shy smile here and there or making some affectionate remark on her behalf when she knew she was within earshot. But Constance knew of Imogen's feelings towards her, back then ... why hadn't _she_ made a move? Imogen had been waiting for it ...

"I'd like for you to keep interfering," Constance said boldly, averting her gaze for a moment.

"What?" Imogen asked, rather shocked, "Sleep ... _here_ .. every night?" she couldn't help a small blush that crossed her features. Yes, the proposition was not in that of the romantic sense, but it was still intimate, to a degree ...

"If you don't want to, I'm not going to pull your leg about it," Constance replied curtly, slightly offended as she turned her back to her, pulling her blankets with her.

"No, it's not-" Imogen sighed, her feet back on the floor as she dug her elbows into her knees, tousling her short blonde hair in frustration. She always had the wrong response, no matter what.

"I want to," she replied quietly, causing Constance's heart to skip a beat even though it was not an answer to any romantic feelings they may have between them, "I just ... well, I don't want to be fighting with you every single night. Maybe every other night," she half-joked, though she knew that now was not the time nor place for that.

"The chair is rather uncomfortable ..." she said suddenly, despite herself, and Constance sighed angrily, turning her head slightly as she snapped at her.

"Do you have any other complaints to make?" she asked incredulously, "I am _trying_ to sleep, if you haven't already noticed!"

Imogen shut up, trying not to take the woman so seriously as she had been having a rather rough couple of nights lately ... she resolved to wait for Constance to bring it up again tomorrow, er, today, when she was a little more well rested. She supposed it was simply the lack of sleep that caused the witch to ask this of her.

She didn't bother bidding her a good night, for she feared it would only cause the older woman to snap at her again. Instead, she tucked herself back up into the arm chair, and watched the back of Constance's head again as she slowly fell back to sleep.

* * *

><p>Imogen awoke to a small whimper. She looked to Constance, who was lying on her back now. Her brows creased slightly, but Imogen wasn't sure if she was actually having a nightmare again. She began to wonder if the sound that awoke her had come from Constance, or if she had just imagined it.<p>

"Constance ..." she called quietly, realizing then that she only addressed her by her first name when the witch was asleep. She crept quietly from her chair, and crawled onto the oversized bed, reaching out to touch the woman's wrist ... but instead at the last second, she found herself taking her hand in her own.

Constance let out a relaxed breath, her fingers interlacing with the non-witch's. Imogen froze, half-expecting the woman to wake up any second now and yell at her for such close contact. She held her breath, staring down at the woman as she sat on her knees beside her.

Her blood ran cold as Constance slipped her fingers out of her grasp and rolled over, facing her, now so close that Imogen could feel her steady breath on her knee. Carefully, she crawled away from her, but as she did, the witch's brows knitted slightly as if she was in pain.

Imogen laid herself down beside the witch as slowly as she possibly could, afraid that each and every movement she made was bound to wake her at any moment. She laid beside her, as far away as she possibly could so as to respect her personal space. Any further, and she'd have fallen off the bed, but the proximity was close enough to annoy the witch once she'd awaken. They were barely a foot apart from each other.

She was lying atop the quilt so as to not overwhelm the witch - had she been under the covers, she'd just be overstepping her bounds even more. She stretched her arm out, snatching the afghan off the armchair and covering herself, all the while staring at the sleeping witch to make sure she didn't awaken.

She carefully slid her hand over the witch's open palm, marveling at how soft her skin was despite her line of work. She'd always wondered if her skin was soft, but closer consideration had led her to think her hands must be rough, lined with scars from cutting up ingredients with such precision, along with cauldron burns. She noticed some light scars here and there, little nicks in her alabaster skin, but nothing drastic. In fact, the witch's skin was so soft that she feared her own skin felt unpleasant and rough to her.

Constance remained asleep, but she gave her hand the slightest squeeze, and Imogen wondered if, subconsciously, the witch was aware of her presence. It wouldn't surprise her if she was, but she wondered why the witch didn't just raise a leg up and kick her right off the bed. It wouldn't take much effort at all - she was teetering as it was.

She scooted over slightly, trying to get a bit closer just to lose the sense of unease. She was torn - she didn't want to upset Constance, but she didn't want to end up on the cold hard floor, either.

She watched the witch's sleeping face for a moment, but the paranoia that her stare might somehow awaken her (not to mention it did seem quite creepy to be doing so) caused her to stare down at their joined hands instead.

She hoped that one day Constance would consciously allow her to touch her like that, as ordinary and simple as the touch was.

With that thought, she closed her eyes, and fell asleep to the soft and gentle sounds of the witch's steady relaxed breathing.

* * *

><p>Constance was aware that, during her sleep, someone was within close contact with her. She knew it had to be Imogen, and she sensed that it was. As much as her feelings for the non-witch were confusing, resentment mixed with longing, she was too deeply asleep to make any rational decision as to whether she wanted her there or not. And to be completely honest with herself, she probably wouldn't have been able to make that decision had she been awake.<p>

She awoke close to five in the morning, her internal alarm clock damning her to always awaken at this hour for it was part of her normal routine, but given her current situation she would most likely not be able to make anything of this day and would have to wait another day until she was better.

She lay there in silence, watching the gym mistress as she slept. She looked so much more beautiful when she wasn't scowling at her, and when she thought of this, she imagined the non-witch might think the same of her when she was sleeping.

Carefully, she slipped her hand out from under Imogen's, and held them to her face, arms pinned as close to her body as she could. She examined her fingertips, as if looking for the slightest sign that her magic was back. She could feel the familiar tingling beneath her skin, and she stuck out her pointer and pinky finger in the usual way she casted magic. Small red sparks emitted from her fingertips, but they weren't as faint as they were before. They were brighter. Stronger. A small smile crossed her features. She was _back_.

The small crackle her magic made when it sparked had awakened the non-witch, and once her eyes focused on Constance, she recognized the familiar casting gesture. Her eyes widened. She shot up into a seated position and scrambled to get off the bed, but Constance quickly grabbed her in the crook of her elbow.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Imogen!" she hissed, and Imogen looked over at her, her eyes still wide with fear.

Imogen didn't know where to begin, how to explain herself. There was no way Constance would see any rational reason for Imogen to be sleeping beside her in her own bed without her permission. All she could manage was,

"I'm sorry."

"What are you doing in my bed?" she inquired, condescendingly despite herself. She didn't mind Imogen's presence, but she wasn't ready to let her know that!

"You were having another nightmare, I think ..." Imogen explained quietly, "Don't you remember?"

Constance did remember. Hecketty was in the beginning of making her re-live an old childhood memory of being fed a potion she'd concocted wrong. It was one of her first attempts at potion-making - she was supposed to create a potion to cure a common cold, a potion she was forced to make at the time as she was suffering from a cold. It was a simple potion, but she'd messed it up, and it caused her to have a severe coughing fit that lasted for a whole hour. She'd managed to cough up a fair amount of blood because of it, and Broomhead punished her severely for that.

In her dream, Constance had just put the vial to her lips and was about to swallow the potion, when ... everything just dissipated. Something gentle and warm broke through, and soothed her troubling thoughts. Hecketty's dark magic had lifted, leaving her feeling relaxed and safe.

It had to be Imogen.

"Constance?" she called the witch out of her thoughts, gripping the hand that still rested in the crook of her arm. Constance snapped out of it, and quickly removed her hand.

"You should leave ..." she said, but her words didn't contain the same forcefulness as before. It wasn't exactly a plea, either. It was more of just a hollow statement, as if she was saying it out of habit.

"I stopped the nightmare, didn't I?" Imogen asked quietly, drawing the witch's eyes to meet hers, "You seemed to calm down when I ... well," she blushed slightly, "You just seemed to calm down."

Constance fought back an amused smile as she looked down at her hands in her lap, "Sometimes ... non-witches can serve as a sort of buffer ... the magic was intended to harm me ..." she closed her eyes a moment, "She's bound to figure it out now, that you were here with me ..."

"So what?" Imogen exclaimed, throwing her arms up, "The damage is done, Constance, whether I stay here or I leave now, it's not going to make much of a difference is it? That old hag doesn't scare me." She said with such sincerity that Constance trembled slightly at the sound of those words, "And she shouldn't scare you."

Constance froze as she felt the younger woman's warm fingers touch her chin, causing her to look over at her, eyes a mixture of fear and longing.

"You're better than her, Constance."

"She made me who I am," she hissed back, despite herself, causing the non-witch to withdraw her hand. She couldn't help the anger that flooded her at that moment, how could Imogen not see that she was almost exactly like Broomhead? "And she is who I'll become."

"I highly doubt that," Imogen retorted, daringly reaching up to brush a strand of dark hair from the older woman's face, causing her to involuntarily shiver, "You've got too much heart."

"What makes you say that?" Constance asked once she'd regained herself, raising an eyebrow, "Do you forget who you're talking to?"

"You can be a little hard on people sometimes, but I know you mean well," Imogen said, "You aren't cruel. You come across that way, yes, but I've never seen you lay a single finger on a student, or a teacher. Personally, I think it's a front. I think you mimic Broomhead's hard attitude in an attempt to make people keep their distance and it does, but you can't keep everyone away, Constance ... Sometimes, you need to let people in."

"And allow myself to get hurt?" she snapped, drawing her legs closer to her body as she looked away, not wanting to meet the other woman's eyes. She'd seen through her, somehow. Constance had been lost all these years, doing well to keep herself apart from the rest of the castle. She'd always thought her attitude would keep everyone away, and the thought comforted her. But Imogen ... she saw it as a challenge! She'd found her, she saw through to the real her, and left her feeling more vulnerable than ever. She shouldn't have allowed Imogen to touch her, let alone sleep in her bed like that! She'd allowed her boundaries to be overstepped, and now there was no turning back unless she bombarded Imogen with insults, and even then the non-witch would probably see through that!

"You might get hurt, yes," Imogen nodded, and rephrased it, "Without a doubt, you'll be hurt. But you'll never experience life if you continue to hide yourself from the world."

"I'm not hiding," she countered fiercely, sitting up taller as she stared the other woman down, "I'm here, aren't I? _You're_ here. I could've made a bigger fuss and you would've been out the door as soon as you came in. Face it, Imogen, you're only here because I allowed it, because I am not quite myself as of late, and had this been any normal night, you would never dream of confronting me randomly about my general behavior. You fear me almost as much as I fear Broomhead."

"You intimidate me, yes," Imogen said, standing her ground, "But I don't fear you."

"Then perhaps you should." Constance seethed.

"Are you even going to thank me for helping you out?" Imogen asked, somewhat hurt.

"Helping me?" she scoffed, "If I hadn't told you, you wouldn't have know you'd stopped a magickal nightmare. And I shouldn't have told you, because now you're behaving all high and mighty, as you have any right in the world to tell me who I am!" she glared dangerously at her, "You don't know me." she growled.

"I think I know you better than you think I do," Imogen replied daringly, her face merely inches from the formidable witch, so close that she could feel her hot breath on her face.

Constance's face softened slightly as she suddenly became aware of their close proximity. Her eyes lowered to look at her mouth, as if she was thinking of making a move, but she quickly looked away, turning to retreat back under her covers.

At least, she would have, if Imogen hadn't grabbed the side of her face and kissed her with such intensity that Constance immediately thought it was her way of attacking her physically. Her kisses were almost bruising against the witch's unmoving lips, and, eventually, she'd gotten her to comply, but only because she'd nipped at her lower lip.

Constance pushed her back into the pillows, pinning her down by her shoulders and holding her still as she pressed her lips fiercely to hers, her teeth grazing her tongue and nipping her lips, so hard that she thought she would draw blood.

Heart hammering in her ears, the witch finally broke free from her colleague, staring down at her as she took in generous gulps of air, her deep brown eyes searching the blonde's blue eyes, her entire body now pressed against the smaller woman. She wanted to continue, more than anything she wished she could, but she knew this was wrong. And the clock ...

"You should leave." she stated firmly, letting her know she meant it.

"Why?" Imogen managed to squeak.

"It's five am," she replied, "Your morning run ..."

"It can wait ..." she said in a small voice, but Constance shook her head, rolling off of her and slipping nimbly back under her covers.

"They'll wonder where you are."

"And they already know, I'm with you ..." she said, sitting up.

Constance made no comment as she pulled her hair out of her face, pretending nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, although her still rapidly beating heart begged to differ.

"I don't think I should leave you ..." Imogen said, feeling her routine calling to her but she didn't want to have to leave Constance's bed, especially after ... well, _that_.

"I'll be getting up in an hour anyway," she dismissed gently, "I'll be fine. Enjoy your run."

Imogen turned her back to her as she sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the emotional pain strike her hard in the chest as she realized what she'd done. She shouldn't have kissed her, she should've known better! Of course she believed Constance had a heart, but to outright kiss her like that ... the witch wasn't one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and it was obvious from her behavior after ... that ... that she didn't want this to continue. There was no feeling involved in it for her, was there? It was just a physical connection, an activity she'd taken part of in order to release stress. It was a rather rough kiss ... maybe she'd done this to hurt her, pay back for Imogen and her almighty claims to know the witch.

Constance shifted in the bed behind her, and she felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder. Instantly, she turned around, hoping that the witch would address the kiss and advise her on how they should continue to behave around each other. Even if it meant their relationship would only get worse from her on in, she didn't care. Just as long as Constance addressed it, instead of ignored it.

But Constance said nothing. She just planted a soft kiss on the gym mistress's lips, and breathed a "Thank you" in her ear before returning to the safety of her covers.

Imogen smiled softly to herself, and left without a word.

No, she would never fully understand the witch. But she wasn't certain she truly wanted to.

* * *

><p><strong>(AN)-** I think ... what I wanted to get across in this sorta got skewed. Oh well. I'M SO SORRY THEY KISSED! I tried so hard not to, but damn it, they can't keep their hands off one another! Please review, let me know what you think, I'll understand if you didn't enjoy it because the consistency of it is probably lost somehow in there ... be gentle. *hides*


End file.
